


Squinting in the Sun

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:04:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: After Thomas makes the mistake of kissing Jimmy in his sleep, Jimmy tries to prove his manhood by treating Thomas like crap for a year. This is the story of that year, from Alfred's point of view.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knullabulla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knullabulla/gifts).



> This story contains period-typical homophobic thoughts and words that are NOT shared by the author, particularly at the beginning. My goal is to show that people who harbor such thoughts are simply afraid. 
> 
> Knullabulla requested this story while I was writing Pleased and Proud. There are several parallels between the two stories, as they take place at the same time (season 3, episodes 8 and 9). This one is entirely from Alfred's point of view, which was a delightful little challenge. Turns out the big galoot is a nice guy, after all. :-) I hope you all like it!

He loved being out with Ivy like this. It made him feel so young, as though all life’s possibilities were right at his fingertips. When he was with Ivy, he felt he could do anything. He could be anything. And he loved to look at her. He loved her smile, especially when she was trying not to smile. The way she blushed…

 

“I wish we could make it a regular thing,” he told her, as they approached the servants’ entrance at the back of the house.

 

“I can’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

 

So she still thought she had a chance with him. Why couldn’t she see he was just using her, until something better came along? Why would she put herself in that position? She deserved the world, Ivy did. And yet she was content to spend her life waiting for Jimmy Kent.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, but Jimmy’s just not interested. I hate to hurt your feelings like that, but he’s not.”

  
  
“You don’t know that,” she persisted. “He flirts with me. He does.”

 

Alfred hated where this was going. One minute he was on top of the world, talking about film stars with Ivy, and the next he was tearing her down, telling her another man didn’t care for her. It seemed it might make a difference if she heard it from his lips, though.

 

That was why he decided to go straight to Jimmy’s room that night.

 

Jimmy was probably still awake; he would walk right up there, and tell him to cut Ivy loose, so he could have his chance. And he would do it now, before he lost his nerve. He just wanted to secure his chance with Ivy.

 

So he knocked on Jimmy’s door, but didn’t wait for an answer. And for one second, Alfred was utterly and completely lost for thought. His mind was nothing but empty space, as what he saw was nothing he could have ever imagined. Jimmy was lying in his bed, as he should have been, but Mr. Barrow was there, too. And they were kissing. Two men, kissing each other.

 

His first thought was honestly that this would greatly improve his chances with Ivy.

 

After that he just wanted to get away. Jimmy was screaming, and pushing Thomas. He threatened to beat him. Alfred bolted, ran across the hall to his own room, but couldn’t resist the urge to peek out his door and see what happened. After Jimmy’s door slammed, it was just Mr. Barrow, standing alone in the hallway. And he was… crying.

 

Alfred shut his door softly, then backed away from it. Mr. Carson had come out from his room, and now he was shouting at Mr. Barrow. Alfred didn’t wish to get into any trouble. So he stood, still in his room, for what felt like hours. Only when his feet began to ache did he shake himself from his stupor and change for bed.

 

For some reason removing his clothes made him feel ashamed. But why should he feel ashamed? He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t done anything at all. He had only seen… what had he seen? Alfred had never felt so confused in all of his life. It was as though his mind refused to work, and he understood nothing. It was frightening.

 

He was frightened.

 

And it was Mr. Barrow’s fault. Or maybe it was Jimmy’s. He supposed that depended on who started it. _Started?_ What was he even thinking? Started, indeed. Look at what those two had made him feel, made him think. They were the ones who should be ashamed.

 

***

 

He told himself that telling Mr. Carson was simply the right thing to do. Mr. Carson was in charge of the male staff, and he needed to be aware of any… shenanigans that may ensue. That was why he told.

 

Except that was not why. He told Mr. Carson because he was so afraid. Auntie Sarah had said if he didn’t tell, everyone would think he was like them. Like Mr. Barrow. Two days ago, he hadn’t known Mr. Barrow was _like_ anything. But he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone—least of all Mr. Carson—thinking he was like that.

 

He _wasn’t_ like that, but he had seen two men kissing, and it wasn’t right, and nothing made any sense if that was how people behaved. People he lived and worked with. How could he even think about courting Ivy when… _this_ was happening? And he couldn’t lose the thing that meant the most to him. He couldn’t lose how he felt when he was with Ivy.

 

Mr. Carson’s shock when he told him was reassuring. He couldn’t believe it either.

 

“Thomas was doing _what_?” the butler asked.

 

Alfred refused to repeat it. “That’s what I saw, Mr. Carson,” he said, standing straighter and taller than he felt. He did feel compelled, though, to inform his superior of how angry Jimmy had been.

 

“Auntie said he might have been faking his anger, because I walked in, but it didn’t look fake to me.” God help us if Jimmy was faking. Mr. Carson seemed to concur. He sent him on his way, commanded him not to speak of this to anyone, ever again. Alfred was happy to comply. Maybe never saying it aloud again would make it go away.

 

Before he left, Mr. Carson told him he was a man now. That the world could be a shocking place. “And you must learn to take it on the chin.”

 

Alfred wished he felt like a man. But he didn’t. He was a scared little boy, who wished he could un-know what had happened, un-see what he had seen.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t call the police to be nasty. He didn’t. He just wanted to do the right thing, and more than that, he wanted all of this to stop. He was sure if Mr. Barrow went away—if he were taken away—then it would stop.

 

Mr. Barrow was already sacked, and yet here he was, sitting around the house with nothing to do but smoke and sulk. Alfred wanted him gone, and he knew Jimmy did, too. So he called. He reported to the police that a male servant working in the house had assaulted another male servant.

 

“No, it weren’t me!” he had nearly shouted into the telephone. As if he had to be the one attacked to make a call like this. He was merely concerned. Concerned for the safety of others.

 

The voice on the phone said they would file a report and send out an inspector, though he couldn’t say when.

 

***

 

Alfred was dreaming. Usually he wasn’t aware he was dreaming while it was happening, but this time he was, because there was a sound, coming from somewhere else, pulling him from sleep.

 

What was it? It was… loud, but muffled. Someone trying to be quiet.

 

He opened his eyes. He knew instantly that it was very late, because everything was so still and quiet. Except for that sound.

 

He sat up in bed, put his feet on the floor. He listened. The sound was not in his room, but outside, in the hall, or… in the next room. Mr. Barrow’s room.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, he rose to his feet and walked into the hallway. The sound was slightly louder there. He moved silently to Mr. Barrow’s door, and stood next to it. Then he was sure.

 

Mr. Barrow was crying.

 

The heartless, perverted, sacked valet was alone in his room, crying. Without thinking, Alfred raised his fist and knocked on the door.

 

He knew immediately he shouldn’t have done it. But it was too late. And then suddenly Mr. Barrow threw open the door, and there he was, in his pajamas, with red and swollen eyes, not even having wiped the tears from his cheeks.

 

Whomever Mr. Barrow was expecting on the other side of his door at this hour of the night, it clearly was not Alfred. The two men fell silent at the sight of each other, and simply stared for a moment.

 

Alfred knew he should say something. But what? _Oh, hullo, sorry you’re in here crying your eyes out because your life is ruined. Just wanted you to know I’ve reported you to the police, so your life is actually about to get worse. Goodnight, then._

 

After another moment of silence, Thomas dropped his gaze to the floor. But the odd thing was, he didn’t seem ashamed. Not of crying, not of being seen crying, not even of what he’d done. In fact, what he said seemed only an attempt at sparing Alfred from playing any further part in all this.

 

“Go back to bed, Alfred,” he said softly, as he took a step back into his room. “It’s late. And I’m…” He shook his head, ever so slightly. “…fine.”

 

_No, you’re not._

 

Alfred nodded miserably, still unable to find his voice. Mr. Barrow shut his door, and Alfred heard the latch click. Then he heard Thomas’ soft footsteps cross the room, and finally the creaking of his bed as he lay himself back down in it.

 

Alfred stood there alone in the dim hallway for a time, before he whispered, “I’m sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

A few days passed, and the police didn’t come. Perhaps they were too busy. And Mr. Barrow was staying now, and not just for the cricket match. He was staying on permanently, and was made under-butler. And for whatever reason, Auntie Sarah had stopped insisting Alfred and Jimmy continue to drag Thomas through the mud. The whole thing seemed to be sorting itself out.

 

That was what Alfred thought, until he saw the police arrive at the cricket pitch. Of all the days for them to show up… he stood there, chewing his thumb like an idiot, and actually tried to convince himself that the police had come for some other reason.

 

They hadn’t, of course. Before he knew it, he was standing alone with Lord Grantham, clinging to the last dregs of his argument, that he had reported what he saw simply because it wasn’t right. That he felt he had to stand up against evil.

 

“Evil?” his Lordship repeated. “Thomas does not choose to be the way he is,” he said.

 

_He doesn’t?_

 

Lord Grantham asked him to be kind. Asked him what harm had been done, really, that Thomas’ life should be destroyed. Alfred felt himself crumbling. It was the talk of sin that finished him, though.

 

“Are you without sin, Alfred? For I certainly am not.”

 

He was not without sin. Look what he had done… and so he let himself be led over to the police inspectors, told them he made the call before he knew what he was doing. He even swallowed it down when Lord Grantham told them he’d been squiffy the night of the incident, and didn’t really know what he was seeing in the first place.

 

“I’d been at the cider,” he added, just to be sure he took it on the chin.

 

***

 

The cricket match ended, and the village thrashed them again, just like last year. Alfred thought Lord Grantham took it rather well. He just smiled and congratulated Dr. Clarkson and his team, and said they’d try harder next year. The family strolled back to the house, the ladies shading themselves from the evening sun with parasols that matched their dresses.

 

Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes led the maids in clearing away the tea things, and Alfred, Jimmy, Thomas, and the hall boys took down the tables and chairs, and loaded them onto the waiting trucks. Most of the male servants climbed into what space was left in the cabs and beds of the trucks, but Alfred saw Mr. Barrow hang back on the pitch, and decided to stay a bit, too.

 

The trucks rumbled away, leaving Alfred alone with the under-butler. Thomas had slung his bat over one shoulder, and was standing in the middle of the pitch, looking out over the trees at the setting sun. Alfred walked out to join him, and stood in the middle of the pitch, facing him.

 

“Perfect weather for cricket,” he said, trying out his voice. He was determined not to stand there in silence this time, as he had a few nights ago.

 

Thomas, however, seemed just fine with silence. He pulled his gaze from the sun to look at Alfred, and gave him a sad smile. Alfred wondered if he knew.

 

“It was me that called the police, Mr. Barrow,” he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “And I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve done it, but when I did I thought…” He couldn’t bring himself to use the word. Thomas wasn’t evil. He was just like the rest of them.

 

“I was wrong,” he started again, louder this time. “Lucky for me Lord Grantham’s sorted it out, and they won’t bother you now.” He paused. “I do hope you can forgive me.”

 

Thomas considered for a moment, squinting slightly in the sun. Alfred gazed at him, and thought about the fact that the sun—and even an overcast white sky—made him squint, too. He had been told by someone once that this was because blue eyes had more difficulty filtering sun light. He and Thomas both had blue eyes.

 

Before Thomas could say whether he forgave him or not, Alfred spoke again. “There’s not a thing wrong with you, is there?” he asked, his voice back to a mere whisper.

 

Though he wasn’t looking for an answer this time, Thomas gave him one. “No,” he said quietly, and shook his head as he had that night in his doorway, as though to clear his mind of thoughts that pained him.

 

“Right,” Alfred said, and dropped his gaze. He turned so he was standing next to Thomas, and they squinted into the sun together.

 

“If only Jimmy could see that,” Thomas sighed, and Alfred understood his air of defeat.

 

Perhaps he could help. “We’ll bring him ‘round, Mr. Barrow,” he said confidently. And the two began to walk in silence together, back to the house. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are still enjoying this story. Comments are welcome! Thank you for reading!

After the cricket match, things were alright between Alfred and Mr. Barrow. They worked well together, and neither was afraid of the other anymore. They even played cards together in the evenings sometimes, and teased each other as boys did. Alfred thought it was nice. Friendly. Easy.

 

But things were not alright between Mr. Barrow and Jimmy, and Alfred knew it. Jimmy just wouldn’t let go his anger over Mr. Barrow’s mistake. He was snappy and rude whenever Mr. Barrow addressed him, even though the man was his superior. He made snide remarks under his breath about Mr. Barrow’s being “soft” and “lavender.” Alfred gave Jimmy dirty looks and left conversations when Jimmy turned them in this direction, but he didn’t say anything.

 

Ever since his revelation that Mr. Barrow was just a flawed human being like rest of them, he had felt he needed to bring Jimmy round, just as he had said he would. But he didn’t know how to do it. Occasionally, the thought occurred to him that he should sit down with Jimmy, man to man, and have a talk with him. Tell him to take it easy, this undying need to prove his manhood by insulting and mistreating Mr. Barrow. But he never did. He thought Jimmy would just laugh at him.

 

Another unfortunate consequence of Jimmy’s never-ending insults aimed at Thomas was the effect it seemed to have on Ivy. The more he asserted his masculinity with cutting insults, the more Ivy seemed to prefer him. Ivy was so blind when it came to Jimmy. He wished she could see Jimmy for what he really was: silly and scared and foolish.

 

Sometimes Alfred would register this sort of complaint with Thomas, during the nights they played cards. But Alfred couldn’t utter more than a word or two against Jimmy before Thomas told him to stop.

 

“If you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Barrow, it’s odd that you would defend him. With the way he treats you and all,” Alfred said.

 

Thomas just looked at Alfred, and didn’t say anything for a moment.

 

“I mean, you’re his superior, aren’t you? If nothing else, he owes you respect. He doesn’t give it, and you don’t seem to mind.”

 

Thomas dropped his cards on the table. He pointed his cigarette at Alfred, and said, “You don’t know anything about what I mind.” His eyes softened then, and so did his tone, as it always did when he spoke of Jimmy. “He doesn’t… Jimmy doesn’t know what he’s doing. He thinks he has something to prove, and he hasn’t. And that’s my fault.”

 

_No, it’s not._

 

Alfred didn’t give voice to his thought, but nodded instead, unwilling to argue with someone who outranked him. “Alright,” he said softly. “Should we finish the game, then?”

 

***

 

The months wore on like this, and one evening, nearly a year after Thomas had sneaked into Jimmy’s room on that fateful night, Jimmy was a bit late coming down for the servants’ dinner. When he entered the servants’ hall, he stopped short, as he noticed that the only chair left was next to Thomas. He stood still in the doorway, and made no move to enter the room.

 

“James?” Mr. Carson asked. “Would you mind coming in and joining us, so we can begin our dinner?”

 

Jimmy squared his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly. “But there’s nowhere for me to sit, Mr. Carson.”

 

The prick.

 

Alfred looked at Thomas, waiting to see what he would do. At the moment, Thomas seemed preoccupied with a speck on his knife, and hadn’t noticed that everyone was staring at him. Then he did notice. He looked at Jimmy, then quickly round the table at everyone else. His cheeks flushed, and he looked down at his plate.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It seems I’m not very hungry this evening. Will you excuse me?” he whispered as he got up and left the room. “Now there’s plenty of room for you,” he said to Jimmy as he passed him.

 

For another moment, the silence continued. Then Alfred spoke up. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” he said to Jimmy.

 

Jimmy’s eyes were shooting daggers. “How do you make that out? That I’m the one who ruins everything? When he—”

 

“What, Jimmy?” Alfred said, raising his voice. “What exactly did he do to you?”

 

Jimmy’s chest was heaving, his face flushed with anger. He looked around the room, at all the people seated at the table, and seemed to be doing the same thing Alfred was doing, which was counting all the ones who knew about The Incident.

 

Mr. Carson knew; Alfred was the one who had told him. Auntie Sarah knew, of course, and so did Mr. Bates, which meant Anna knew as well. Mrs. Hughes knew everything, so that counted her in. It seemed everyone knew about it, except perhaps the hall boys and house maids, though who knew what gossip they had heard.

 

And yet Jimmy still seemed unable to say it out loud. After a few deep breaths, he muttered, “It seems I’m not very hungry, either,” and turned and stomped up the stairs.

 

“Neither am I,” Alfred said, and stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. He walked out of the room and toward the kitchen.

 

As he did, he heard Mrs. Hughes sigh and say, “What a coincidence. It seems none of our male staff are hungry this evening.” He was sure Mr. Carson raised at least one eyebrow at that.

 

“I’ll go see to Thomas,” he heard Anna say, as he leaned over the kitchen sink, feeling he had nowhere to put his anger.


	5. Chapter 5

The day of the fair arrived, and Alfred was quite excited. Ivy was going, though she rarely gave him the time of day any more. And he would have a chance to visit Mr. Tufton’s food stall. At least that was promising.

 

Mr. Carson still expected them to work until they left at half past four, and he and Jimmy were sent up to replace some silver in the drawing room, since the family was away. As they worked, Alfred built up the nerve to speak to Jimmy about Mr. Barrow. An outing to the fair was a treat, and he didn’t want it spoiled by Jimmy’s bad manners.

 

“Take it easy with Mr. Barrow today,” he said. “I’m not saying crawl all over him. Just don’t spoil things.”

 

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Jimmy retorted. “Who rang the police in the first place?” Alfred had to admit Jimmy had him there, but that was a year ago, and Alfred had made it up to Thomas since then. He had apologized, and he wished Jimmy would, too. As he thought about what he would say next, Jimmy shocked him by not just sitting down in one of the family’s chairs, but putting his feet up, too.

 

Was there no end to this man’s brashness? At once disgusted and impressed with Jimmy’s nerve, Alfred asked, “Suppose someone comes in?”  
  
“They’ll find a man, sitting in an armchair,” Jimmy answered. “They’ll survive it.”

 

They probably would. Though it would depend on whom it was doing the finding. Not wishing to appear fearful, though, Alfred walked around to the front of the sofa, and gingerly sat down upon it. As he shifted his backside slightly and tried to decide if it was much more comfortable than the rocker downstairs, he realized he was sitting down with Jimmy, man to man. Maybe Jimmy wouldn’t laugh, if he could make clear that Thomas was a decent person, and a good friend.

 

“Funny thing with Mr. Barrow is, he won’t hear a bad word about you.”  
  
“Why?” Jimmy asked. “What’ve I done to him?”

 

The cheek on that man.

 

“I only meant he won’t let anyone speak against you,” Alfred said, trying to clarify.

 

Their adventures in sitting were cut short then, as Mrs. Hughes entered the room, and demanded to know what on earth they were doing. They both sprung from their seats, muttered apologies to the housekeeper, and ran back downstairs, before she could cancel their plans for the fair.

 

***

 

As soon as they entered the fairgrounds, Jimmy spotted something he wanted to try. “Here’s something for us,” he said, pointing out a sign advertising a tug-of-war contest. “Alfred? Mr. Branson? Let’s give it a go.”

 

“I don’t mind,” the former chauffer answered.

 

“What about you?” Alfred said pointedly to Mr. Barrow.

 

Before Thomas could answer, Jimmy scoffed. “Isn’t it a bit rough for Mr. Barrow?”

 

Luckily Thomas fought his own battle on this one. “Oh, I think I could manage,” he said, as he walked away from the group.

 

Mr. Barrow held his own in the actual battle, too. He was as much help in winning the tug-of-war as Jimmy or any of them. Alfred continued to wonder when Jimmy would see that Thomas was just a man like the rest of them.

 

It became clear after their victory, though, that Jimmy was not going to see that today. He wasn’t seeing much of anything, as he blew his winnings on far too many drinks, and wandered away from the fairgrounds.

 

Alfred was standing at Mr. Tufton’s stall, smelling the spices and talking with Mrs. Hughes about his dreams of cooking when Jimmy came staggering back to the fair, shouting like a lunatic for the doctor to come. What had he done now?

 

Jimmy’s shouting had caught the attention of most of their group, and they all followed the doctor and Mrs. Crawley to a foot bridge a short distance from the fairgrounds. Thomas sat on the ground, leaning up against the bricks of the bridge, with several bloody scrapes to his face and arms. Alfred wondered if he and Jimmy had fought, though it didn’t seem likely.

 

Jimmy mumbled something about two men trying to rob him, and tried to find a way not to come off sounding like a ninny, but the truth was that he had run off while Mr. Barrow had taken a beating for him.

 

Just as there appeared to be no end to Jimmy’s impudence, there appeared to be no end to Thomas’ unrequited devotion to the man.

 

Well, Alfred wasn’t going to just stand there and watch Thomas suffer, just because that’s all Jimmy would do. When Mrs. Crawley instructed everyone to get Thomas home and into bed, he bent down and helped him to stand.   
  
“Lean on me,” he offered, as though Mr. Barrow had a choice. Alfred helped him to limp the short distance to the wagonette, then hoisted him up into it. Mrs. Hughes told Thomas to lie down, and he did, with his head in her lap. She began to dab at his wounds as Alfred gave Daisy, Ivy, and Edna a hand up into their seats. Alfred climbed up next, and as he sat down, he looked over at Jimmy, who clambered in last.

 

Wasn’t he going to do or say anything? Everyone knew what Thomas had done, and still all Jimmy could do was sit and pout? Typical. At least Jimmy made it easy to show him up, when it came to manners.

 

Alfred rose from his seat, and removed his jacket. He crossed the small space between the two rows of seats, and covered Thomas with it.

 

“Thank you, Alfred,” Thomas said. Alfred thought briefly how sad it was that Thomas seemed so surprised by such a small kindness.

 

“Just trying to make you more comfortable if I can, Mr. Barrow,” Alfred said as he returned to his seat. He stole a glance at Ivy, and felt smug as he saw how she blushed.

 

During the ride home Alfred thought about Ivy, and his satisfaction with himself faded. Would he himself do as much for her as Thomas was willing to do for Jimmy? Of course, if he ever saw Ivy—or any woman, or anyone—being beaten, he would intervene. But if Ivy got herself drunk at a fair and wandered off, would he follow her just to make sure she was alright?

 

Probably not.

 

Alfred shook his head, and felt ashamed by Mr. Barrow’s behavior once again. It was different this time, though. He didn’t feel confused and frightened. He looked over at the man lying on the bench in front of him, and watched Mrs. Hughes caress his hair, and smile, and murmur softly to him how proud she was of what he had done. And he knew Mr. Barrow was in fact _not_ just like the rest. He was better. He was a better man than any of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for some fluffy friend fluff? Ok, here goes... :-) Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting. This has been a fun one to write!

The next morning Jimmy was particularly quiet at breakfast. Alfred watched him nibble some toast, and sip some tea, and wondered if Mr. Barrow’s bravery the day before had finally helped Jimmy to see what he was missing. When Mr. Carson informed Jimmy that he alone would be responsible for polishing every piece of silver in the pantry—and before luncheon—Alfred noted how willingly Jimmy accepted his punishment.

 

He suddenly felt a little sorry for Jimmy, now that the man clearly had some remorse for all he had done. He helped bring all the silver into the servants’ hall, and piled it on the table. He left him to it then, and went upstairs to check the dining room.

 

***

 

Alfred only needed to wonder for a second or two what had happened. He walked into the servants’ hall half an hour or so later, and found it deserted, though there was a monstrous amount of unpolished silver covering the table. He snorted to himself and rolled his eyes. If Jimmy wasn’t here, he was fairly sure he knew where he had gone, and it was about time.

 

Alfred sat down, and began to polish.

 

***

 

They didn’t finish the silver before luncheon. Even with two of them it took most of the day. Jimmy had stayed upstairs to visit with Thomas for at least an hour, and when he came back down, the two footmen worked silently together until the job was done. Alfred hadn’t minded covering for Jimmy, and he knew Jimmy knew it. What Jimmy had been saying and doing in the attic was far more important than any piece of shining silver. The silence in which they worked side by side was companionable at last.

 

After the family’s dinner had been served that night, Alfred found himself with a few minutes to spare before the servants ate their evening meal. He wondered how the under-butler was faring, and made his way up the stairs to find out.

 

“Come in,” Thomas said softly, after Alfred knocked on the door.

 

Alfred opened the door slightly and peeked inside. Thomas was sitting up against his pillows and headboard, with a newspaper in his lap. He wore pajama trousers and an undershirt.

 

“Alfred,” he said, somewhat surprised. “Are all the footmen dropping in to visit today?” he asked.

 

“I suppose so,” Alfred answered, and walked into the middle of the room, where he stood with his hands behind his back. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

 

“Sore,” Thomas answered, and grimaced as he pushed himself up on his pillows.

 

“Right,” Alfred answered. “Listen, if you’re up to it, why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs for dinner with all of us tonight? A change of scenery might do you good,” he mused as he looked around at Thomas’ sparse little room.

 

Thomas looked down at his lap. “Oh, I don’t think so. I shouldn’t be seen anywhere looking like this,” he said, gesturing to his bruised face.

 

“Why not?” Alfred said, feeling somewhat daring in challenging his superior. “Everyone knows about it already. And we’re all quite proud of you.” He gave Thomas a shy smile.  


Thomas smiled slightly too, though it clearly hurt to do so. After a pause, he said, “It’s not just that. I took quite a thrashing to the head yesterday, and I still get dizzy when I walk. I don’t think the stairs are good idea.”

 

“Oh, well, I could—” Alfred stopped. An idea had just occurred to him. He looked down for a moment, then back at the under-butler. “Wait just a moment, would you?” he asked.

 

As Alfred dashed from the room, he was sure he saw Thomas smile again, and roll his eyes.

 

***

 

He found Jimmy in the kitchen, talking with Daisy and Ivy, as they prepared the servants’ dinner.

 

“Can I have a word?” Alfred asked him. Jimmy shrugged and followed him to the bottom of the stairs. Alfred leaned casually on the banister. “I was just up to see Mr. Barrow,” he said. “He’s feeling a bit better.”

 

“Huh,” Jimmy grunted, clearly not following.

 

“Yeah, said he’d like to come down to dinner, but he’s a bit dizzy when he walks, so he doesn’t think he can manage the stairs.”

 

Jimmy curled his lips and bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands in his pockets.

 

Alfred tried one more time. “He might be able to come down, though, if he had a bit of help.” Then he waited.

 

Jimmy looked up at him. A moment passed.

 

“Oh!” he suddenly said. “Right. I’ll just be right back, then.” He turned on his heel, and headed up the stairs.

 

Alfred stifled a laugh, and waited at the bottom of the steps.

 

***

 

If Alfred had gone upstairs with Jimmy, he would have witnessed him knock on Thomas’ door, and wait a moment before entering. He would have seen Jimmy walk into the room, and rouse Thomas from his bed, and insist they all needed his company for dinner downstairs.

 

He would have seen Thomas protest for a moment—but only a moment—then get up from his bed, and let Jimmy pretend to be his valet, dressing him in a clean white shirt, and grey trousers. He would have watched Jimmy fasten Thomas’ blue tie for him, then help him into his waistcoat, and secure the buttons. Then he would have observed Jimmy kneel in front of Thomas, slip his shoes onto his feet, and tie them for him.

 

If Alfred had been there, he would have watched as Jimmy stood, faced Thomas, and tried not to giggle as he said, “Very good, milord. Let’s go downstairs. Come on, we’ll go together.” Then he would have seen Jimmy let Thomas lean on him for support as they walked out of the room and down the hall.

 

But Alfred didn’t go upstairs with Jimmy, so he saw none of that.

 

What he did see, from his place where he waited at the bottom of the stairs, was the pair of them walk slowly downward together, Jimmy holding Thomas around his waist, with Thomas’ right arm draped around Jimmy’s shoulders. And he did hear Jimmy softly say as they stepped downward, “That’s right, Mr. Barrow. We’re nearly there now.” When they finally stepped off the bottom stair, Jimmy stopped, but didn’t let go of him. “Y’alright?” he asked.

 

Thomas nodded. “Yeah,” he answered.

 

“Good,” Jimmy said. “Let’s have some dinner, then. And maybe after, a game of cards?”

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows, and stifled a grin. “We’ll see,” he said, and he let Jimmy guide him toward the table. Alfred smiled, and clapped Jimmy on the back, as he followed the two into the hall. He thought he would feel pleased with himself for bringing Jimmy round as he said he would, but he felt more proud of Jimmy, for finally knowing a good man when he saw one, and accepting his friendship.

 

That was the thing about Jimmy. He always did the right thing, eventually.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I cheated a bit on POV near the end there, but I just couldn't pass up the little scene with Jimmy playing valet for Thomas. Oh well... Oh, and we'll probably have to pretend that this is not the day that Matthew died. Seriously, sometimes I forget there's an upstairs in this house.


End file.
